


Salvation in Sincerity

by Witchtomez



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Annette Fantine Dominic - Freeform, Body Worship, Emotional Sex, F/M, Fluff, Frottage, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, Golden Deer Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Golden Deer Route, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Leonie Pinelli - Freeform, Manuela Casagranda - Freeform, Mentions of other characters: - Freeform, Potential Spoilers, Riding, Vaginal Sex, assume if they could join GD--they did, vaguely implied Linhardt von Hevring/Lysithea von Ordelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchtomez/pseuds/Witchtomez
Summary: "How should I put this? When I look at you, I don't see a crest. I want to see the real you."For Sylvain, that was the beginning of the end.He didn't realize it at the time, but he would eventually understand what he had been truly looking for all along.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	Salvation in Sincerity

**Author's Note:**

> *Set post-Golden Deer route*

_“How should I put this? When I look at you, I don’t see a crest. I want to see the real you.”_

It was probably at that moment when Sylvain felt he should have noticed trouble on the horizon.

Fool though he was, Sylvain was not unintelligent; he had done at least a bit of research: A lady of noble birth now relegated to commoner status? And well into her marriageable prime at that? Surely there was a story there…perhaps one of a woman desperate to climb back into the lap of privilege. Plus there was something tempting about finding out just how strong the ‘devout follower of the Goddess’ façade happened to be. 

He’d first noticed her in a sort of peripheral way; always joined at the hip with the ambitious and energetic Annette which was cute enough, though it left little room to chat either one of them up to tea. 

Kind, considerate and ditzy Mercedes von Martritz.

Sylvain wasn’t sure he had the patience for the air-headed type until the day she’d shown up to class in her trademark shawl—blouse _forgotten_ entirely. He may have blanked on the lecture that day, but he’d certainly felt he observed some things far more valuable.

It never occurred to him that she’d been observing him as well; far more carefully, in fact.

_“Hello, Sylvain. What a treat to see you here—I thought you preferred places with more ladies around!”_

And just with that, there was a misstep in his well-practiced spiel; her intuitive greeting held no passive aggression or accusation. She accepted his presence with genuine joy and a bit of mirth as her inviting tone plied more truth from his mouth than he’d intended to divulge. Instinctively, he had tried to fall back on false pretenses of verbal ineptitude regarding women, yet she brushed off the act with a laugh…and then confided worrying that he’d found her dull after speaking of her background.

His heart faltered at the confession. Her past had not been dull as much as heartbreakingly painful—and yet she had chosen to bare her hardship to him without any agenda simply because he claimed to want to know her better. 

He certainly knew her better now: another innocent brutally mistreated by the stupid Crest system. Conflict scraped at his insides, understanding that there would be no way to truly see Mercedes as just another desperate woman trying to claw her way back to noble status…but it would be so much safer if he could.

Sylvain couldn’t help the slight accusation in his tone when she had asked for his experience as another Crest bearer—no woman thus far had cared to know, so why would she be any different? And yet—

_“I want to see the real you.”_

Something cracked and rattled within him; before he realized it, the anger and resentment festering inside him for so long had spewed forth in a scathing diatribe of the multiple injustices suffered under the burden of Crest Gautier: the lack of familial affection, the ability to trust and even his own decisions for the future.

When the frustration had ebbed to flaring exhalations, Sylvain hesitantly looked to meet her eyes. He had almost defiantly searched for fear, perhaps disgust—anything that might let him see what really lay beneath her saintly exterior.

His pulse slowed gradually, absorbing her sorrowful gaze tinged with a bit of relief and understanding as if apologizing for the wounds he’d endured even before the words left her lips.

Mercedes wore no deceit to mask an unsavory character—her own heart lay across her sleeve like a banner and a beacon.

As much as she drew him in, Sylvain felt his heart recoil; she wasn’t like him _at all._

In the same breath she’d used to brush off his apology, Mercedes had shown gratitude for his unsightly temper, pleased with his sincerity. Had she not followed up with an invitational jest about their shared misery, Sylvain was sure he would have bolted and avoided her sweet, piercing gaze for the rest of time.

Not that fighting a war together really made that an option.

* * *

A litany of strategic battles seemed to come one after another, which did help to at least keep him from contemplating their odd little situation briefly.

Then came the mission to take Fort Merceus; a daunting task, but given the stunts that everyone had witnessed Claude and the Professor pull off thus far, they knew it to be a winning gamble. 

Eventually, victory was theirs…and chaos followed immediately after.

They had been fortunate as troop leaders to be positioned near the gates as they chased after Imperial forces; but the air began to vibrate before streaks of light speared down upon the fort in devastatingly thunderous blows, decimating everything. Debris of all sizes flew everywhere with each impact and dust enveloped them in a thick haze…almost enough to choke the screams of soldiers frantically trying to escape.

He’d never thought much of handkerchiefs, assuming they were more noble frippery, but Sylvain was grateful to have the cloth shield his face while shouting instructions to lead everyone to safety. Several mage units had quickly taken initiative to cast modified wind spells to guide the earthy clouds through the gates; Sylvain squinted, smirking as he spotted Annette hovering in the air while directing the appropriate battalions forward.

Instinctively his eyes rose above to where Mercedes floated ethereally; summoning weighty fortification spells that tested her limits. The murky sunlight caught in her veil gave her the appearance of a winged messenger of the Goddess…except for the visible strain in her face. Urging the squadron onward, Sylvain turned his horse back toward Mercedes at a gallop, seeing her dip a bit in the wind.

He hadn’t noticed the slab of stone hurtling toward him until it obscured her from view, the alarmed cry of his steed ringing in his ears. Sylvain had put up his hand in reflex, knowing there was no way he would pull off a Fire spell in time—

_“SYLVAIN, SHIELD UP!”_

Instead of a stone casket landing on them, a brilliant shaft of light dropped over it; Sylvain huddled under the metal plate until the hailing pebbles slowed and the light dissipated. Groaning, he pulled his mount back around to resume the course.

A Fortify spell was already challenging enough, but to throw an unperfected Abraxas spell simultaneously? He’d waved off the straggling bits of stone and charged forward just as someone screamed Mercedes’ name.

She was already sinking toward the ground, wavering unsteadily before finally dropping at full plummet. A wyvern cried out as Cyril propelled it to dive, but Sylvain knew the distance to be too far as he spurred his horse faster; already planting his soles on the saddle, Sylvain leapt forward to intercept Mercedes’ descent the second her boot heel had crossed his eye level.

The landing was by no means gentle, but it was bearable. Mercedes lay limp against him the whole trek back, but they’d all returned to Garreg Mach still breathing. Once Professor Manuela had discharged Mercedes from the infirmary, the former opera diva very reluctantly allowed the infamous philanderer to escort her back to her room—not without a stern warning that Seteth and Flayn would deliver the medicinal supplements as soon as she finished the herbal compound.

_“I suppose I earned that…”_

The unspoken accusation had him grimacing, but the tired giggle that gently shook Mercedes’ shoulders mollified him. The wait for her to awaken had only been less than six hours, yet it had felt like excruciatingly anxious weeks—

A nervous sensation danced at the edge of Sylvain’s mind…an uncomfortable truth that poked at his consciousness as he tried to wave it off; before he could consider how to bury it entirely, they had arrived at Mercedes’ humble room.

_“Thank you, Sylvain…if it’s not too much trouble, could you meet me at the Cathedral? Tomorrow around midnight? I would invite you in to speak now, but I’m still so tired—“_

He squeezed her shoulder, keeping her steady until she was comfortably seated.

_“A late night invitation from a beauty like you? Of course I’ll be there. You…you just rest up and don’t worry about a thing, ok?”_

There it was again; her thoughtful, penetrating eyes peering through his coy attempt at levity. It was funny, he thought, how much he had been trying to escape them since their last one on one…and now?

Now what?

Those dusky blue depths had already witnessed embarrassing portions of his uglier weaknesses; things he wished to hide while playing at romance—but when the previously vague concept of ‘war casualties’ suddenly made the possibility that he might never look into her eyes again _very real?_

Sylvain didn’t think he could deal with that again.

~~Not after Dimitri.~~

* * *

When he snuck into the cathedral, Mercedes was already lifting her head from her finished prayer to greet him cheerfully; she was perfectly back within her element, much to his relief—flirtatious salutations fell from his tongue before he’d had the mind to still them, but she sidestepped effortlessly, reiterating her wish to speak with him.

His cheeky grin faltered slightly, but he perked up curiously. Was a lecture coming? Sylvain considered that it was due; he had somehow missed a large chunk of fortress wall hurtling towards him and nearly paid the price if not for her—

_“…I meant to say that I know you’ve been through a lot in life.”_

_“Huh? Me?”_

Frozen dumb with surprise, Sylvain felt his throat constricting as she elaborated on her sympathy for him. It took effort to keep his smile pressed firmly as he reminded her that he was hardly the only one to suffer.

_“But didn't you mention that your brother envied you enough to wish you dead?”_

Swallowing thickly, he rebutted how much more Miklan had suffered for his poor luck in comparison; then—

“ _Didn't you also mention that women were only interested in having your, as you say, ‘Crest baby’? I'm not very interested in the particulars, but... I get the feeling that you don't care very much for these women who throw themselves at you.”_

_“Um, I'd appreciate it if you maybe kept that observation between the two of us.”_

He’d coughed uncomfortably as sweat gathered under his collar, but relaxed when she giggled and promised to keep his secret safe. Yet the longer Sylvain took her in with his eyes, the deeper her reach seemed to be.

This whole time, he’d been looking for some weakness to exploit; a crack in the pretty shell—anything to liken her to him and assuage the guilt he felt in trying to seduce her. Instead, she slipped behind his mask and somehow…somehow she wasn’t disappointed. Even now, Mercedes held his watery gaze as she softly approached, and the inner tension loosened with each delicate step.

Why was she so patient? Wasn’t she wasting her kindness on him? 

_“I know you’ve got your share of bad memories too, but…”_

His reply was cut short once her palm slid over his cheek, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

_“That's why you feel comfortable letting your guard down around me. Come now, that's enough with the sad smile.”_

_“Mercedes…was my sad smile really that bad? D-did it ruin my dashing good looks?”_

It was a valiant attempt to lighten the mood, but the heat was already building behind his eyes.

“ _Not at all! You actually look more handsome to me with honesty on your face.”_

The dam was broken; Sylvain sagged in equal parts relief and defeat as the tears landed at her fingertips. Still, he couldn’t help the broken smile; he’d gone after her ultimately because he wanted a closer look at what had been beneath her shawl that day in class. Now, Mercedes alone held intimate knowledge of his secrets and her only flaw seemed to be stretching herself too thin for the sake of others.

This meant he would have to protect her—something he knew he was already promising to do before she ever asked.

The irony was not lost on him. Nonetheless, his typical methods had failed him; his mission was a complete bust…but he couldn’t call it a failure. He gained so much more for the risk, as he never felt safer; wrapped within her small, powerful embrace.

* * *

The intensity of the ensuing battles ramped up exponentially, but despite the ever-growing risks and close calls, their vows to protect each other seemed to draw forth latent strength that rose to every challenge. 

This effect wasn’t restricted to the battlefield either.

Strangely enough, instead of heading into town to blow off stress in the company of women, Sylvain found that his old routine no longer seemed to settle his nerves as much as spending his time in the company of just one particular woman. Running errands and chores simply used to be a mundane thing he’d comply with on a whim, but there was a curious contentment at the sight of Mercedes chatting excitedly over the recent acquirement of a fruit she’d not yet cooked with while pondering what desserts could be made from it—Sylvain even found himself volunteering suggestions as her face lit up eagerly.

Stranger still, Sylvain found himself actually drawing closer when a bitter victory on the battlefield left Mercedes shedding tears one lonely night in the quiet gardens. Any other woman’s tears would have had him seeking the nearest discreet exit, but _not hers._

Wet droplets splashed against the gem in her hand while the other covered her sobs with a handkerchief. _“Emile… Forgive me...I’m so—“_

For once, he didn’t have any clever lines for her to laugh at; Sylvain wordlessly seated himself beside her, helping her muffle the cries with his chest, shielding her from the world with his arms. Even when her pain was so deep, she didn’t wish to upset the others who had personally suffered at the hands of the Death Knight.

Sylvain did the praying that night on her behalf, as grief had thoroughly exhausted Mercedes; he added another request for the Goddess, though he intended to work at it himself as well:

Sylvain prayed Mercedes would never suffer such heartbreak again.

* * *

Thankfully few months later, the campaign reached its crescendo with an explosive final battle with the reawakened King of Liberation, finally allowing for the walls around Fodlan to come down. Though there was still work to be done with the restoration of war-ravaged towns and the church itself, the rest period was a tentative breath of relief.

Then the missives came in; calls for everyone to return home and reunite with eager families—or for more practical purposes, assess the damages and the condition of their respective territories. Sylvain balled up the parchment and tossed it to the group of kittens that had recently been born near the monastery fishing grounds, content to watch them get more value out of the paper before it ended up in the compost.

It wasn’t that he had no intentions of returning, he just didn’t see a pressing need to leave immediately when there was work to be done around Garreg Mach. Gradually though, their numbers dwindled after Lysithea and Petra began the first wave of exits, citing distance and urgency to handle affairs; Linhardt soon followed after, though he apparently did not stay in Hevring territory long…

Then came the letters for Mercedes one evening in the dining hall. Sylvain and Byleth sat silently as Mercedes scanned the note, eyebrows slightly knitted together as her lips pressed into a thin line. She blinked once, folded the message and slipped it under the silverware before resuming dinner conversation as though nothing had interrupted.

He tried to send an inquisitive look, but she was already exchanging subtle nods with the Professor. Sylvain could only follow their lead, feeling somewhat lonely and wondering how much longer Mercedes would allow him to protect her.

* * *

His mood became rather sullen over the next few days; Felix and Leonie had left to scout the smaller villages, so even fewer friends remained. Byleth, soon to be the new Ruler, was juggling multiple reports while still transitioning into their role and even Mercedes was scarcely seen, much to Sylvain’s disappointment.

_‘Probably preparing to leave next…I guess that means break time is over…’_

Souring at the thought of returning to House Gautier, Sylvain groaned loudly as he flopped onto his bed. He’d always known it was inevitable; even if they’d saved the world to start a global reform, the nobility and its trappings wouldn’t evolve so easily…

A sudden knocking at his door stirred him from his irksome train of thought. He frowned, wondering what urgency would require a messenger this late at—

“Mer-mercedes..!”

She bustled in, panting slightly as she attempted to smooth her skirt while giving an apologetic nod.

“Good evening, Sylvain. I’m so sorry to barge in this late, but I really needed to see you!”

He stood there, mouth slightly open, utterly dumbfounded. The Faerghus Kingdom’s infamous playboy kept looking between the door, his current company and down at himself before pinching his thigh for good measure. Hands fidgeting nervously over her bodice, Mercedes withheld a shy cough.

“…Oh dear, can you not think of any suitable pick up lines for the occasion..?”

He finally noticed a nervous patch of pink surfacing at the crest of her cheekbones once her joke jolted a chuckle out of him.

“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never been so close to my dream of having a beautiful woman in my room at a scandalous hour. I had to be sure I wasn’t actually sleeping…”

His trademark grin returned, though he was still a bit caught off guard. Her laughter tumbled appreciatively from her lips, tension lightly dispersed, “It’s not your best line, but it’ll do!” 

Smirking, he waved off her critique and pulled the desk chair out, taking a seat. Seeing that he meant to offer the softer mattress as her seat, Mercedes crossed the room and settled in gratefully.

“So what’s up, Mercedes? I’ll admit, I haven’t seen much of you lately, I was starting to think you’d taken off already.”

Her smile dampened apologetically. “I’m sorry about that, but I promise I would never depart without saying my goodbyes first. You’re far too dear to me—that’s partly why I’m here.”

“Ah…I figured it might be,' he replied, sighing as the sinking feeling hit his gut, 'well, thanks for seeing me first. You’re still very special to me too.” His eyes drifted, straying toward small pile of crumpled notices growing on his desk. Sylvain grimaced, resigning himself to pen a response in the morning—

“I’m glad you said so, Sylvain…”

Her hand was even warmer on his face now than when she comforted him in the cathedral; her voice was exquisitely soft in his ear and he fought the urge to pinch himself once more.

“…because I’ve come to ask something quite selfish—if you’ll hear me out, that is?”

Slowly letting her palm guide his face up toward hers, Sylvain felt his throat go dry. He’d have offered his tongue if she requested it, given how useless it sat that moment. Forcing a swallow, he locked eyes with her, wondering what she could possibly consider so selfish a request that it made her uneasy.

“If I can give it, it’s yours.”

Hoarse as he was, Mercedes beamed fondly while bringing her other hand to fully cradle his jaw, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“You’re sweet, but please listen before you make hasty decisions. That’s pretty crucial for an heir, isn’t it?”

 _‘Damn the nobility!’–_ he didn’t voice this thought aloud, but only because she needed his ear instead of his bravado. “Mercedes…despite knowing practically everything about me, you’re still the kindest person in my life. I trust you.”

She looked just as surprised as he did just then, but he didn’t even think of looking away. Her thumbs brushed his cheeks before closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

"I want _you_ , Sylvain—‘

His jaw fell agape.

‘—just for tonight. I won’t ask anything more than that, and I’ll protect your reputation.”

If this had been about five years ago, Sylvain certainly would have leapt at this fantasy with reckless abandon. However, her words held a tone of finality that had his heart racing in alarm. Covering her hands with his own, he worked his fingertips into her palms as a hollow laugh left him.

“Mercedes, we both know that ship sailed long before I first set foot in this monastery…as for the other part,’ he hesitated, humor giving way to hurt, ‘…am I only good for one night?”

She shook her head, squeezing his fingers lightly, “I’m already being selfish, I can’t be greedy as well—but it already makes me so happy that you’d offer more! Still, I don’t want to make any trouble for you when we have so much work ahead.”

“Forget that for now—I have to know: why me and why only tonight? What’s really going on, Mercedes?”

There was a pregnant pause before she sighed.

“You’ve said it before: there are many lofty expectations placed on crest-bearing nobility, regardless of gender. I want to make my decisions while I still can—”

Sylvain sat up straight, a terrible thought bubbling past his constricted throat.

“No way...you—you’re being married off already?!” 

Mercedes started at his sudden volume, but giggled and shook her head.

“Oh no, my stepfather wishes for me to do so, but I’m going home to decline in person. I’ve been making arrangements with the Profe—I mean their Majesty's assistance recently, just in case there are consequences for my mother because of me.”

Sylvain sank in relief, letting his head lay over the back of the chair until he realized he still didn’t understand her request. “Okay then, but…what’s this about making your decisions while you can if you’re already going against the grain?”

A tender smile played on her lips, “I meant _you_ , Sylvain. House Martritz and Bartels are no more, but House Gautier will eventually fall to you. I wanted one chance to confess before we went our separate paths, that’s all!”

“Mercedes…’ Sylvain broke off, mind reeling with her implications, ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if you’re saying you...love me…you know that doesn’t mean you have to give me—you don’t have to sleep with me.”

“Of course I know that. That’s where I’m being selfish—I meant to make sure you knew my feelings regardless!” She laughed softly as Sylvain flushed, “I simply wanted to ask if you would be willing before you had to marry a suitable noblewoman.”

His expression was unreadable as they sat silently. Mercedes folded her hands, head slightly bowed with a thoughtful hum.

“I didn’t mean to upset you; I just didn’t have enough time to consider how you might take this since I leave soon and didn’t want to risk you leaving without knowing…”

She made to reach for the door until Sylvain caught her wrist, tugging her back to his lap. His fingers traced her slender neck to knot in the glossy strands, pulling her to his lips; he took his time, swiping his tongue over the chapped portion that she had undoubtedly worried between her teeth before meeting him. Initially startled at the sudden passion, Mercedes adapted quickly, tilting his head back and coaxing breathy moans from his throat as she clutched his tunic.

They broke away, exhaling raggedly while she leaned on his shoulder. “Sylvain,’ she panted, ‘you’re not obligated to me, you understand, right?” 

“Second thoughts?”

She shook her head, planting kisses against his throat until his breath increased tempo. Struggling against himself, Sylvain held her shoulders and pushed back carefully until he could speak.

“Mercedes…don’t you want to know if I love you back?”

Tilting her head pensively, Mercedes cupped his cheek, twinkling with adoration.

“Not if it makes things complicated for you; I’ve already decided my feelings and it’s enough that you accept them. Returning them was never a requirement, Sylv—Sylvain?!”

He buried his face just above her heart, staining her blouse with each tear. “How dare you call yourself selfish?” He whispered harshly against the material. Grip tightening around her waist, he cleared his throat and looked up to find her fingers unfastening the shawl and first two buttons of her shirt.

“Three conditions:’ he rasped as her cleavage threatened to spill from behind the linen barrier. She paused over the last button, but nodded for him to continue. ‘First, tell me how to make you feel good. Second, don’t let go of me…” He broke off at her excited grin, feeling his own surface.

“And your l-last condition?” She stuttered, feeling his hands teasing along her calf after lifting the hemline of her skirt. Sylvain moved to tuck his face against her throat.

“…Give me a day.”

“…A day?”

“Those are my conditions. Can you agree to them?”

His breath fanned across her skin, whipping her heartbeat into a steady drumming. Climbing to her feet, Mercedes adjusted herself until she could straddle his thighs comfortably.

“Yes—though it might be easier to show you, regarding the first condition…” she murmured, contemplative. Sylvain barely managed to swallow a whimpering groan, finally pressing his face into the plush breasts, inhaling deeply. His hearing caught the rhythm of her rapid pulse as he turned his head to listen, eyes mesmerized as he watched the transformation of her hardening nipple directly across from his face. One hand drifted down to creep back beneath her skirt as the other gave into temptation and followed the outer curve of her right breast, nudging it over to his waiting mouth.

The second his tongue brushed beneath the areola, her grip tightened on his shoulder, eventually darting for the buttons of his shirt. Making quick work of them, Sylvain flexed his hold on her thigh at the sensation of smooth palms working over his taut pectorals and shifting the fabric off his shoulders. At her insistent pressing, Sylvain let himself be pushed back for her exploration; he’d had half a mind to tease her, but witnessing the rapt fascination of her expression as her fingers traced over every line of definition, the words faded and Sylvain could only focus on steadying her legs as they squeezed around him.

Closing his eyes, he basked in the overwhelming sensations, realizing he’d never quite felt anything like it before. He’d made out with plenty of women by that point, but he’d always been the more active party in those encounters, always extracting shy sounds so reluctantly emitted. It was another thing entirely to be on the receiving end as Mercedes ran her hands everywhere within reach, cherishing every bit of him as though he were something precious.

Unable to resist anymore, he leaned forward and took her lips as his hands clasped behind her waist. The motion caught her by surprise, earning an unexpected squeak that made them both laugh before Mercedes nudged his chin to resume their gradually feverish kisses. When they broke for air, she shifted her attention to leave a heated trail wherever she felt the skin pulsing beneath her tongue.

“So beautif—oh!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I—ah…you’re uh hm. Missing something?”

Mercedes leaned back to find an uncharacteristically furious blush staining Sylvain from forehead to chest. His hands had faithfully kept to her supple thighs…but perhaps had encouraged them to brush over his lap rhythmically by drifting up to her hips. All was well until her whispered praise had his heart skipping a few beats and then he had instinctively gripped her deliciously firm backside. Thrown off pace, Sylvain had looked down to find a mildly wet patch over the front of his trousers that would have sent him into a panic had he not realized there was _no fabric_ beneath his fingers.

Just smooth, invitingly warm hips that rounded out to a perfectly developed ass…which meant…

Mercedes noticed the curious draft and covered her mouth in alarm.

“Oh! Oh no! I had just pulled them off the line and laid them on my bed, but then I—oh dear. Would you believe me if I said I just forgot them…?”

He looked into her pleading face, unable to restrain the goofy smile that stretched the corners of his mouth as his heart practically melted in his chest.

“If you were _anyone_ else—no, absolutely not.”

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline, mouth dropping open in shock before laughter tumbled out. “You’re terrible!”

“And you’re perfect.” Playfully narrowing his eyes, Sylvain leaned in to touch his forehead to hers for a quiet pause.

He then stood abruptly, taking Mercedes with him just to walk over and deposit her on the mattress. Removing his ruined trousers with a quiet chuckle, they were tossed unceremoniously over the back of the chair as he shrugged off the mussed shirt. When he turned back, Mercedes made no effort to hide her admiring gaze—the cocky remark died on his lips with a sheepish grin, knowing full well his heart couldn’t handle another sudden genuine compliment without bursting.

Mercedes paused in removing her bodice and skirt after undoing the closures, extending her hand to Sylvain who seemed surprisingly flustered at the moment. “Something on your mind, Sylvain?”

Reaching back, he took a moment to appreciate the moonlight scattered in the gauzy veil as it cast a heavenly shimmer upon her otherwise disheveled appearance; how fitting it seemed for her to pull him from the shadows into her waiting arms, offering comfort as he found his answer.

“Just thinking… one night is never going to be enough, Mercedes.”

She pressed a tiny gasp between her lips, stroking his cheek as she sat up. “We’ll just have to make it count then, right?”

Her melancholy was so subtle, tucked behind encouraging words; it wasn’t subtle enough to avoid waking Sylvain’s penchant for rebellion. Softening his eyes, he set upon Mercedes with a challenging smirk, eager for her to laugh again. He made a show of wildly digging through her skirts, tickling her sides until they had freed her from her linen trappings. Sylvain undid the buttons at her cuffs, planting kisses inside her wrists and at last, she sat bare before him. Moving her hands towards her hat, Sylvain intercepted by pulling her back to reclaim her seat atop his unrestrained erection.

The direct contact had them both hissing, stunned by the intense heat pulsating between them. Her arousal coated him abundantly, allowing her to glide over his twitching member with merciless ease. Sylvain glanced sympathetically at his beading tip just barely surfacing from the folds beneath the pale gold curls; more important things demanded his attention, and he slowly raked his gaze up to find Mercedes doing the same.

“You really are beautiful, I…’she giggled, hesitantly pushing him back toward the mattress, ‘I hope you don’t mind but I wish to see all of you, Sylvain. I need to make sure my feelings reach as much of you as possible.”

He leaned up to taste her throat, nipped at her shoulder lightly and returned to the mattress.

“Not at all, but I think I’m getting the better end of the deal here,” he quipped, sinking into her soothing touches as she danced over every curve of muscle, threaded her fingers through his unruly red waves and brushed every scar with tenderness. He thought the moonlight exaggerated some of his shadows, but _oh_ how it made her glow. Sylvain didn’t know where the stray tear came from as it disappeared into his hair, but he felt like he understood Mercedes; looking into her contented face as she leaned against his stomach and ground her soaking core against his pelvis, he saw there was nothing more miraculous than the absolute security forged through mutual sincerity. 

Mercedes suddenly bit her bottom lip, guilt creasing her brows.

“Mercedes…?” 

She opened her eyes, flustered but smiling. “I apologize, but I—I think I need _more_.”

Sylvain shot up, situating both of them near the wall. It was cold against his back, but that was fine, given his heated skin. Mercedes hurriedly resumed her position, grateful for his hands directing her hips until she found the perfect angle to begin bouncing. A low moan crawled from her throat as her eyes went glassy, and Sylvain found himself entranced with the sight, catching her nipple on his tongue until he could draw as much of her breast into his mouth as possible. She’d cried out deliciously then, spurring him to massage the underside of her rear until his fingers found and traced the trail of glistening fluid to the lower portion of her entrance.

When she fell forward on her hands against the wall, Sylvain slid under and gave assistance as her legs began to tremble, raising his hips so gravity would allow her that perfect alignment of pressure against the swollen bud peeking from the beneath the saturated nest.

“Sylvain, I…I feel like I’m melting, but we— _ohh_!”

He clamped his hands over her sacrum, ignoring the pre-cum dripping against his navel and continued thrusting against her clit until a wailing sob tore out from her. For a split second, Sylvain’s eyes darted to his windows and door for signs of someone approaching until he remembered that he was no longer a student and well beyond caring. Mercedes had collapsed against him, lungs heaving and legs twitching. The feeling of accomplishment was about on par with the fall of Nemesis in his mind.

Working through his own gravelly breathing, Sylvain tried to lubricate his throat before speaking. “Feeling better? Are you ok?”

Despite the exhaustion, she weakly pushed herself up while reaching for his shaft. The stimulation of her fingers was almost painfully sensitive due to prolonged arousal—Sylvain grimaced, stopping her.

“Sylvain, please…you haven’t—“

“Shh...come here…” he whispered, rolling them both to the side. One hand lifted her leg, and he positioned his tip just at the slit, doing his best to ignore the faint quivering hinting at the exquisite chaos within. “Mercedes…you’re sure? I mean absolutely—?”

She pressed her lips to his in assurance, reaching down to readjust his entry. Groaning, he held back from the tempting heat. “This definitely won’t be long, but don’t judge me too harshly?”

She gave a hoarse chuckle at his roguish wink. “Never, Sylvain. I know you too well.”

He sank in with a gasp as her heated core tensed from the intrusion, still spasming from her residual orgasm. At her sharp intake of breath, he froze and waited until her chest rose and fell at a more comfortable pace, only moving when she nodded for him to continue. Once he was fully buried in the silken sheath, Mercedes let out a sigh of relief, shifting her hips carefully to stretch her walls. A tiny whimper escaped, alerting her to Sylvain’s weakening restraint.

“No problem, _no problem!_ ” He wheezed at her silent apology before a throaty cry escaped him, her hands gripping his ass to pull him flush against her. Bowing his face against her shoulder, he scattered incoherent whispers across the milky skin, building speed as her muffled cries spurred him on. Eventually, the syllables of her name spilled from his mouth like desperate prayers, not quite linking up in order though he kept trying.

Somewhere between ‘Mer’ and ‘Ce’, Sylvain nearly choked as she began squeezing him erratically until finally—

“Merce, Merce…de— **_MERCEDES_ **!”

His hand fisted against the wall while the right clutched her to him as he emptied into her. They sank to the mattress in a twitching heap of limbs, thoroughly spent. Sylvain had nearly drifted off, noticing the now familiar sensation of his face being caressed. He opened his eyes only to find Mercedes had fallen asleep in that position, showering him with tenderness to the last.

It was just him alone with his thoughts now, absorbing the gravity of what was unbelievably only the last two hours…and the years before that.

He had approached her like a wolf and she had lured out his humanity. War came and bound them together, and then Peace had her resigned to leave him, but not without knowing her love. Mercedes had come very far from being the tragic survivor of House Martritz, shedding her misery and keeping the obstinate kindness and strength forged from endurance.

Where did that leave Sylvain? Had he really faced war, helped tear down the walls of Fodlan and saved the known world from impending death just to fall back into the prison of archaic noble customs? That didn’t seem right or noble by definition…

Sylvain watched as Mercedes readjusted herself, goosebumps rising along her skin. A pang of realization hit him as he grabbed a pillow and replaced his arm with it to fetch a decent covering for her. She nuzzled into the cushion, displacing her hat at last as it shifted to the side.

Amused to see her faithful adornment had endured their strenuous lovemaking, he moved to brush the errant wing of gauzy material that had landed over her face when he had an epiphany. Suddenly struck with a second wind, he gingerly moved to retrieve a stashed blanket and draped it over Mercedes as lightly as possible. Returning the chair to his desk so neither of them tripped over it in the morning, Sylvain nearly laughed aloud as he realized why he’d been so fixated on her headwear as of late.

Searching for a pen and scrap paper, he made a few reminder notes to address after his nap.

First, he would speak with the Professor about what arrangements had been made in regards to Mercedes’ situation. Second, he would draft a formal marriage announcement with the caveat of a long engagement, depending on what solutions had been considered in the first. Third, and hopefully easiest, would be to convince Mercedes that this was a perfectly acceptable and mutually beneficial answer for both of them as it was clear neither would truly be satisfied to walk separate paths after this.

The fourth and final note (for now): commission a ring.

  
  



End file.
